


Shadows Of Feathers

by bonesofether



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20722766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonesofether/pseuds/bonesofether
Summary: Upon accidentally crossing paths with an American military agent, the S.A.S team find themselves allied with Delta Team Steel. The new alliance is a promising one against a mounting attacking force.





	1. Salutations From South America

Searing hot rays of sunlight beat down on the dust choked road. Cries of surprise and horror rang out through the dry air, only to be almost immediately drowned out by the sharp clatter of gunfire. The air warped and danced in the heat of the South American sun, twisting around with the pale dust that rose from the empty roads.

It was that very heat that Angela swore was going to slowly cook her like a rotisserie chicken, starting with her lungs.

The whole damn mission had gone south. All of it. Her handler, or bodyguard, for lack of a better term, was dead. It had been mercifully quick, but no less jarring to see. Angela had tried to drag him out of the ambush, away from the deafening gunfire. Her reward had been the stinging, hot bite of bits of metal and the rocky road as they struck her face, propelled forward by the hail of bullets.

Now she was running as fast as she could, her feet pounding the gravel, and the weight of her body armor feeling heavier and heavier. Her lungs burned and her eyes watered, blurring her vision. Angela wasn’t sure if it was from the dusty heat or shed tears.

Tightly held underneath her left arm was a ruggedized laptop, and though there was a deep gouge in the casing, the laptop and the data it contained were safe. While her survival instincts screamed at her to toss the heavy piece of equipment into an alley somewhere to lose the excess weight, Angela knew better. Her job, her duty, was to get this laptop back to Delta Team Steel. Once she got the laptop to them, she could go home. She could go back to air conditioning, black coffee, and her loud neighbor with the even louder Chihuahua dog.

Across town, the distant chatter of gunfire caused Captain John “Soap” MacTavish to grip the foregrip of his assault rifle a little tighter. It sounded like all Hell had broken loose in that part of the town. Behind Soap, Sergeant Gary “Roach” Sanderson glanced around his superior officer, towards the sound of gunfire.

“Sounds like somebody beat us to the party,” he muttered.

“Least their attention isn’t on us.”

The enemy was closing in, slowly but surely. Angela could hear them behind her, yelling in a language she didn’t understand. Every now and then, though, they would throw in some threats in English. ...mostly about cutting her tongue out.

Which was something that Angela wanted to avoid.

She was armed, but nowhere near as strongly as she would have liked to have been. Her sole weapon was a 9mm pistol, complete with an extra clip. Given the fact that it looked like her pursuers were carrying AK-47s at the very least, Angela knew she wouldn’t last more than two seconds in a firefight with them. Besides, what was she supposed to do when she ran out of bullets? Throw the laptop at them?

Though as heavy as the computer was feeling at this point, hurling it at an attacker seemed like a viable option.

Glancing down at her watch, Angela hissed a curse between her panted breaths. She had missed her extraction time by a good thirty minutes by now. At this point, all she could do was hope that they would organize some sort of rescue squad to get her out of this hellhole. That or a retrieval squad for the laptop and whatever was left of her. It was a very rare day when she missed an extraction time, and Angela had prided herself on being punctual.

The gunfire was growing closer, and by now Soap could hear the angry shouts of the local gang members. They were after something. Or, more likely, someone. And they were chasing that someone with fierce persistence.

The sounds of the chase had drawn close enough to force Soap and Roach to hide in the first, nearby building. They’d made it to the second floor before pausing. The cracked walls concealed them from anyone running by, and gave the two soldiers a needed break.

As far as Soap knew, he and Roach had managed to slip into town unnoticed. They were here to keep weapons that had no business being in this town from reaching their final destination. And they hadn’t been detected on their way to the weapons’ location, so why all the gunfire and racket?

Roach was quiet, but dared a glance outside, the sunlight glinting off his sweat-streaked face. His expression was calm, but his eyes kept searching the rooftops for anyone that might be taking aim at either of them.

And then the gunfire drew even closer.

Now the voices were easily audible, and the threats in English could be understood through the shouting and the ruckus.

Crouching down, Soap motioned Roach to do the same. The gang members were almost right below them, and Soap had no intention of drawing any unnecessary attention to either of them. So long as the gunmen kept going after whatever they were chasing, and that whatever wasn’t Soap and Roach, things could keep progressing smoothly.

She had to keep running. It didn’t matter where by this point, so long as she could keep running away from her pursuers. Angela darted down alleys and sprinted across the small, broken streets, the laptop hammering against her side. By this point, her boots felt like bricks nailed to her feet, sharp jabs of pain shooting up through her legs.

Slamming against the door, Angela crashed into a small, recently abandoned house. She shut the door behind her as fast as she could, trying to conceal her tracks as best she could. Staggering up the partially broken staircase, she crawled up the last three steps, clinging to the laptop. Racing through what appeared to be a tiny kitchen, heading for an open door, Angela heard a sound so quiet that the gunfire, shouting, and the pounding in her ears almost drowned it out.

Almost.

Because the sound was unmistakable. And it stopped Angela dead in her tracks.

It was the metallic clink of a rifle being set to fire.

Her heart skipped a beat, and Angela darted to the wall, lightly pressing her back to the peeling wallpaper and splintered wood. Her right hand had already freed her pistol from its holster, and the laptop was gripped so tightly in her left hand that her nails ached. Some previously untapped strength was keeping both of her arms steady, and Angela fought to ignore the beads of sweat that trickled down her face and burned at her eyes.

She could hear somebody on the other side of the wall, and they had obviously heard her, but it was just one person. Angela could handle one person. She  _ had _ to.

Whispering something under her breath, finding a sense of calm in the old, familiar words, Angela judged where the other person was. She drew in a slow breath, and then pivoted around the threshold, pistol drawn. She swung the laptop upward, finding a sliver of satisfaction from the thudding sound the hard casing made when it cracked against her yet to be identified foe.

Then Angela realized they weren’t in the place she had judged them to be. Horror immediately erasing her briefly lived satisfaction, Angela glanced over her shoulder when she noticed movement behind her. The other gunman was a mere few feet away.

Angela had always been fast, but right now, she couldn’t be fast enough. She snapped the pistol upwards, trying to take aim at the second gunman. But he already had his weapon, a far more powerful assault rifle, trained on her...and he was shouting at her in English. Clear, precise English.

“Drop it!” he barked, the words coated with a distinct British accent.

Her chest was heaving by this point and Angela knew she was caught, but she kept her pistol trained on the blond soldier.

“Who are you?” she demanded breathlessly and angrily.

“I said drop it!” the soldier ordered, taking a step forward.

Hearing a low groan behind her, Angela realized that the man she had initially hit with the laptop was getting up. But the realization came too late for her to do anything.

The second soldier lunged forward, grabbing Angela’s arm and twisting it fiercely, while snagging her other arm in a tight grip. Her hand dropped the pistol without Angela’s consent, and the laptop clattered to the floor. Muffling a yelp, Angela shoved against the man, trying to throw him off balance and free herself. She stomped on his foot sharply, continuing to struggle despite the threat it posed to her.

“You got her?” the blond soldier asked, weapon still trained on Angela.

“Aye, I got her.”

The second man’s voice had an unmistakable Scottish accent, but that was a pointless detail by now. It also seemed that they weren’t too keen on shooting her outright, and she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. The intel was worth the risk of continuing to struggle.

As soon as she renewed her efforts to break free, Angela’s attacker jerked her back against him. He wrapped his arm around her neck, forearm firmly pressing up against her throat. Realizing that he was trying to get her to black out, and that the blond soldier was looking to assist in subduing her, Angela used the last bit of her strength to pull her head back and then bite the man’s forearm. Hard.

Though he jerked and hissed an angry curse, the man didn’t completely relinquish his grip. Instead, he whirled Angela around and brutally slammed her up against the wall. The force of the impact made the wall shudder, and the back of Angela’s head cracked against the wood. The sudden strike made red and white spots bloom briefly in her vision.

And then the cold barrel of a pistol was pressed underneath her chin.

Knowing that she was caught, Angela glared up at her attacker, finally able to see him. His skin was streaked with dirt and sweat, with blood trickling down from the bridge of his nose. His reddish brown hair was cut into a short mohawk, with a five o’ clock shadow to complete the rugged look. His piercingly blue eyes glared down at Angela, studying her for a long moment.

“Who are you?” he finally hissed.

“You alright, Soap?” the first soldier asked, rifle still at the ready.

“Goddamn bitch bit me,” he retorted, gaze never leaving Angela.

It was then that Angela finally noticed the small, British flag sewn onto the man’s shirt sleeve. She blinked at it quickly, then looked back up to the man. Her glare took on a more inquisitive tone as she worked to catch her breath.

“You’re British?” she asked, a soft wheeze in her voice.

Noticing when the woman’s glare seemed to ease by a slight degree, Soap took the opportunity to study her for a few minutes. She appeared subdued, for now, but he didn’t want to take the chance of her darting off. Already he could taste the coppery sting of blood running across his tongue from his busted lip. The bridge of his nose pulsed with pain, blood oozing from where the laptop had hit him.

Soap had been hit by a myriad of weapons, but he couldn’t recall ever being assaulted with a laptop.

He had to admit that she was surprisingly strong, despite the fact that she stood about half a foot shorter than him. Her short, blonde hair was matted and plastered against her head, and thin, bleeding scratches flecked her pale face. Her dark blue eyes had remained locked on Soap the entire time, never leaving him.

Continuing to look the woman over, Soap noticed that there was blood all over her fatigues, and a small United States flag was sewn neatly on the chest of her vest. But it was highly unlikely that she was military. The lack of any sort of indication of rank, not to mention her sloppy and headstrong way of fighting, were testaments to that suspicion.

But, fortunately, she had stopped struggling. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she continued to catch her breath, but other than that she didn’t move. Soap’s gaze flicked down to the dark bloodstains on the woman’s clothes, then back up to her own, blue-eyed stare.

“You injured?” he muttered.

“What?”

Soap motioned to the bloodstains.

A pained look crossed the woman’s features and Soap knew the answer before she even said it.

“No. It’s not my blood.”

He had to stop himself from automatically apologizing.

“All right,” Soap said slowly, giving the woman a pointed look. “I’m going to take the gun away. Don’t make me regret doing so.”

Deciding that it was in her best interest to cooperate, for now, Angela nodded her head as best she could. At the very least, it seemed liked she was dealing with soldiers from an ally nation. Then, slowly, Soap withdrew the gun.

“What’s your name?” he asked, keeping his voice low. The sounds of gunfire and pursuit were moving off to the other side of town, but Soap wasn’t keen on taking any chances.

“Angela.” Her voice was raspy, but steady. After a few moments, she decided to test her luck. “I need to get in touch with Captain Sinclair. Please.”

“What were you doing here?” Roach interjected.

Glancing over at the blond, Soap jerked his head lightly at Angela.

“Keep your eye on her, Roach,” he ordered, reaching into his pocket.

Though she instinctively tensed, Angela didn’t move. Her gun was on the floor, well out of reach, and she doubted she’d be able to wrestle the soldier’s weapon away from him. Definitely not in time before Roach reacted.

“If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already,” Soap muttered. He produced a black zip tie from his pocket, eliciting a wry smile from Angela.

“Taking no risks, huh?” she asked, obediently holding out her wrists.

“Can’t risk you running off,” Soap grumbled.

Taking Angela’s wrists, this time a little more gently, Soap paused when he noticed the odd scarring pattern on them. But the pale marks were barely visible, and he chose not to comment on them for now. Tying the zip tie around her wrists, Soap made sure it was firmly secured, but not so much so that it cut off circulation. So far, she seemed cooperative.

Soap just hoped she didn’t have rabies.

“What happened?” he asked, having to slightly crouch down as he patted Angela down.

“...there’s a knife on my waist, right side. And another, smaller one, strapped to my left ankle,” Angela sighed, keeping her gaze on Soap. Averting her gaze, she stared blankly at the wall across from her as she answered his question. “I was here with my partner. We were spotted by those gang members that you no doubt heard. He was...shot. I tried to...pull him out…” Hearing her voice begin to tighten, Angela cleared her throat and continued on. “He didn’t make it. And I have to get myself and that laptop back to Captain Sinclair. By this point I’ve missed my extraction time by a good hour or more.”

Sure enough, Soap found the two knives that Angela had mentioned. Her left leg was badly bruised, as well as bruising on her right side, but no open wounds. And, aside from the knives and the pistol, she didn’t seem to be armed with anything else. It appeared that Angela had been relying on her partner to bring the firepower…

“Well, Roach and I have a job to do, and I’ve no intention of letting it go unfinished,” Soap stated, standing back up. He dusted himself off and leveled a look at Angela. “So, like it or not, you’re coming along for the ride.”

Sliding off the small backpack on his back, Soap picked up the laptop. As he started to slide it into the backpack, Angela made a small noise of protest that she promptly cut off. Soap held up a hand, giving the blonde a quick nod.

“If you turn out to be who you say you are, you’ll get this back,” he stated, sliding the backpack on and then looking directly at Angela. “You have my word.”

Though she had her reservations about leaving the laptop with a soldier from a foreign army, Angela simply nodded in meek agreement. She was in no place to argue. She watched as Soap deftly picked up her pistol and holstered it against the vest he was wearing.

“Let’s go. Break’s over.”


	2. Souvenirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having unexpectedly crossed paths with an American CIA agent Angela, Soap and Roach find themselves having to take her along.

Staying crouched down, Soap moved forward, with Angela following obediently. Bringing up the rear to make sure they weren’t ambushed, Roach fell in step behind them. For a brief moment of insanity, Angela considered lunging for Soap’s backpack and fighting for the laptop. Then common sense, and the aching pains that were eating their way up her body, kicked in and told her that she would be doing no such thing.

“Well, the good news is that you created enough of a bloody ruckus that there should be little resistance,” Soap muttered sardonically.

Roach chuckled quietly in response, but Angela was silent. She was still mentally kicking herself for being so stupid as to blindly attack an unseen assailant. Sure, she could blame her actions on an adrenaline rush, but she was damn lucky to have run into men that appeared to be an allied country. If they had been members of the favela gang…

“Hold up.”

Angela stopped, her breathing having finally returned to normal. The heat was still stifling, but at least now she wasn’t running for her life. And, as grim as it was, there were two other people that could keep the enemy occupied.

They were outside of a fairly inconspicuous, single-story building with bullet holes riddling the walls. Soap glanced over his shoulder, studying Angela for a moment. He hadn’t planned on the possibility of picking up extra baggage on this mission, and while Roach appeared fine, albeit a little sunburned, Angela was looking dangerously pale. She must have severely over-exerted herself in the past couple of hours, and now it was catching up with her.

Turning his gaze back to the door, Soap stared at it briefly before motioning for both Angela and Roach to stay put. He didn’t want to risk Angela running off, or worse happening to her. Roach seemed surprised by the order, but, of course, remained quiet.

Quietly creeping through the door, Soap paused to see if he could hear anyone inside the building. For a few seconds, there was silence, but then, the faint sound of music being filtered through cheap earbuds hummed in the air. Crouching back down and hiding behind a wooden crate, Soap waited, listening as the noise got louder. Finally, from another room, a gunman strolled into view. He was obviously far too engrossed in whatever he was listening to. While it made him a terrible guard, it also made him an exceptionally easy target.

Setting his jaw and slowly drawing the knife from its sheath strapped to his leg, Soap watched the guard as he bounced slightly back and forth in tune to the music. The creaking of the wood under the gunman’s feet provided a little bit of noise to mask Soap’s approach. They were still oblivious, staring out of a shattered window across the sun-bleached buildings.

Lunging forward, Soap grabbed the guard by the forehead and in one swift, strong motion, yanked their head back and rammed the knife blade through the back of the man’s neck. The sound of bones cracking and the guard choking on their own blood drown out the music and Soap’s muffled grunts of effort to hold the gunman still. For a few tense minutes, the guard struggled violently, wildly clawing at the blade that was jutting out from their throat. Then the inevitable happened and the guard’s struggled weakened before stopping completely.

When the gunman’s body went limp, Soap had to brace himself to keep from dropping the body. He slowly lowered the corpse to the ground, letting it crumple to the floor. He stared down at the body for a second, forcing back the sense of guilt creeping up on his conscious. Sighing heavily, Soap reached down and wrenched his knife free from the guard’s throat before looking around the room with narrow eyes.

This was the building where the contraband weapons were supposed to be, no doubt. However, there was a decided and definite lack of contraband weapons anywhere. There were a few boxes tucked away against one of the walls, but they were all pried open and empty. Moldy straw and packing materials dangled out of the boxes and littered the floor, but that was all.

“Roach, it’s clear,” Soap announced lowly. “Bring the laptop-flinging lunatic, too.”

After a couple of seconds, Angela walked into the building, Roach close behind her. Soap glanced over at them, then looked around the floor. He gave Roach a frustrated a look and motioned around at the rubbish scattered around on the floor. The blond soldier appeared confused, looking around the room slowly.

“Uh, sir,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Where are the weapons? You know, the contraband weapons we were supposed to intercept?”

“Gone,” Soap grumbled, rubbing the toe of one of his boots against the dusty outline of a now missing box. “Looks like we were too late. Goddammit.”

“There aren’t any left in any of those?” Angela asked, motioning to the open boxes tucked away.

“Nope, they’re all empty,” Soap sighed, looking over to the blonde woman. He couldn’t help but note that she still looked worryingly pale, but she seemed to be managing well enough. “Each one of those boxes has been gutted, girlie.”

“There’s not even anything left save for the bloody packaging. And it’s piss-poor packaging at that,” Roach hissed, kicking one of the boxes in frustration. He sighed and shook his head, looking back to Soap. “We should get the hell out of here before our little favela friends come back.”

“Aye, good idea.” Soap started for the door, then stopped and gave Angela a pointed look. “Think you’re going to make it, girlie? You’re starting to sport a bit of a sunburn there.”

“I am?” Angela frowned and wiped her face...and promptly regretted the action. She did, indeed, have the start of a sunburn on her cheeks and forehead. Sighing, she nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Sir, if we’re going to go, we’d best go now,” Roach advised, glancing out the main entrance door.

Moving forward, Soap motioned for Roach and Angela to follow. They fell in step behind him, the trio making their way down an alleyway, Soap cursing their intel every step of the way. They had been at least twenty-four hours late, if not more. The gang members had been able to cart out the weaponry and ammunition. And all Soap had to show for it was a busted lip, bloodied nose, and an angry, blonde-haired American.

The town was thankfully quiet, as the locals were too terrified to be anything but onlookers. As Soap and Roach neared the jeep they had creatively procured to reach the town, Soap turned to Angela. Her pace had slowed considerably, and her pale face was flushed.

“You know the drill?” he asked, pulling off the keffiyeh wrapped around his neck.

Sighing, Angela nodded her head and turned around. Roach looked to Soap, shrugging slightly under the weight of his gear.

“You really think that’s necessary, sir?”

“You’d rather take the chance?” the SAS soldier asked, raising an eyebrow. He tied the keffiyeh around Angela’s eyes, trying to keep it snug but not hurt her. “I’m not fond of doing this, either, but the rules are there for a reason.”

“Yeah. And you’re renowned for following them,” Roach snickered.

When he finished tying the blindfold, Soap waved his hand in front of Angela’s face. She didn’t flinch. Satisfied that she couldn’t see, Soap guided her to the jeep. Angela staggered, trying to feel her way around the vehicle. It was at that point that Soap realized that it might have been better to just blindfold Angela after she had gotten in the jeep. As an attempt at a wordless apology, Soap helped Angela climb into the passenger’s seat, making sure she didn’t trip again.

“You all right with her taking shotgun?” Soap asked Roach with a grin.

“Eh, just this once,” the blond replied as he clambered into the back of the jeep.

Hopping into the driver’s seat, Soap glanced around quickly before giving the keys a quick twist. The engine turned over without a problem, and soon they were driving their way down the dusty, broken streets.

With a soft sigh, Angela leaned back to rest her head against the poorly cushioned passenger’s seat. The almost inaudible sound made Soap glance over at the woman. He had to give her credit. Despite everything that had happened, she was being quiet and following the rules, which was all Soap could ask for at this point.

Once they were safely out of town, Roach leaned forward towards Angela.

“You’re an American then, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah. Got a nice, little apartment in D.C. Emphasis on the ‘little’ part.”

“Ah, a capital city girl.”

“I guess you could say that. Rent is so high that it’s practically criminal, but it keeps the commute time down,” Angela replied with a faint smile.

Though she started to add to her little quip, Angela was cut off when the jeep hit a pronounced bump. The impact made the whole vehicle jolt, and Angela’s hand instinctively shot out to grab something to steady herself. What she ended up grabbing, however, was Soap’s thigh.

“A bit tense there, aren’t we?” the soldier chuckled, giving Angela’s hand a light pat.

“Sorry,” the woman muttered, quickly withdrawing her hand. Her face was red once again, but this time it wasn’t from the sunburn.

Finally, after a drive that seemed like it too long, they were finally well outside firing range from anyone who might be in the outlying buildings.

“Well, congratulations, girlie. You managed to make it out alive,” Soap announced over the dull roar of the jeep’s engine.

“Yay. What’s my prize?”

“The possibility of getting your laptop back. Provided you don’t take another swing at me.”

“Hm… You make a tempting offer.” Angela frowned and tilted her head. “There weren’t many guards around the edges of town. We’re not heading towards an ambush, are we?”

“Doubt it. There weren’t many to begin with,” Roach replied. “Not to mention, once they got the weapons out of town, there’d be no need for guards.”

“Sounds about right,” Soap grumbled, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Whether it was divine intervention or sheer lucki, Soap wasn’t sure, but they made it out of the village safely. The worst that they had to endure were a few puzzled glances from a couple of confused cows on the outskirts of the village. Puzzled glances were better than bullets any day.

Angela had remained silent for the entirety of the drive, speaking only when spoken to. While Soap truly believed that she was, indeed, American and not a threat, it was a risk he couldn’t afford to take. Not was he about to put Roach’s safety at risk, either. Besides, Angela could be considered potentially deadly when armed with the proper laptop.

Arriving at their small, makeshift base of operations, Soap slowed the jeep as they got closer. The jungle foliage provided decent camouflage, but did absolutely nothing for the heat. A few soldiers were slowly milling around the camp, giving the jeep suspicious looks until it was verified that it was Soap driving.

Once it was confirmed that the jeep and its occupants weren’t threats, one of the soldiers casually strolled up to the jeep. They patted the hood and then noticed Angela. Frowning at her in confusion for a moment, the soldier gave Soap a questioning look.

“Pick up a souvenir while you were out there, eh?”

“And quite the feisty one at that,” Soap replied, motioning to the bloody mark on the bridge of his nose. “But first we’ve got to make sure that this little souvenir is genuine.”

To say that Captain Sinclair was infuriated was the understatement of the month. He was pacing back and forth, books squeaking against the grungy tile floor. First Lieutenant Alan “Church” Lee was watching them wear a rut into the floor in silence. He was standing near the table that was laden with all sorts of communications equipment. Communications equipment that had been silent for far, far too long.

The room they had been waiting hours in was fairly small, but the walls were reinforced, making it one of the more secure rooms in the dilapidated building. At one time the structure had been a sort of general store. At least, that was Church’s best guess, judging by the old cans of food and bits of magazines strewn around on the floor. Now, though, it was serving as a temporary base of operations for the American soldiers.

Sinclair suddenly pivoted and looked at Church with a pointed glare, his dark brown eyes narrowed.

“Try reaching her again,” he ordered gruffly.

Sighing inwardly and nodding, Church picked up the radio, clearing his throat before speaking.

“Redbird Four, this is Redbird Two, do you copy?” There was a long stretch of static, but nothing else. Church glanced up at Sinclair, who nodded and motioned to the radio impatiently. “Redbird Four, this is Redbird Two, do you copy?”

Again, only static answered.

“Dammit,” Sinclair grumbled, his Southern drawl drawing the curse out. He rubbed the back of his neck roughly, continuing to pace around the room. “It’s been too long. We know we’ve got at least one soldier dead. Last thing we need to add to the tally is a dead CIA agent. Get your gear and get ready to move out.”

“You got it, Captain,” Church answered, tossing the radio onto the table before walking briskly out of the room.

Sergeant Oscar Alvarez was standing in the hallway just outside the door, and he looked up at Church expectantly.

“No go,” Church replied with a shake of his head. “We’re going to get our little songbird back ourselves.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Alvarez responded with a grim smile. “Riley and Epps are downstairs, and they should be good to go.”

Back in the communications room, Sinclair was having one last staring contest with the radio, as if he could, by sheer will alone, force some sort of response from it. He picked up the radio receiver, gripping it tightly enough that he could hear the plastic parts creaking.

“Redbird Four, this is Redbird One, do...you...copy?”

There was a short burst of static...and then a voice crackled over in response.

“Redbird One, this is Hotel Six, I copy.”

The surprise at actually receiving a response made Sinclair pause for a few brief seconds. He blinked quickly at the radio, then snapped back to his senses. While the voice definitely wasn’t Angela’s, it was speaking fairly clear English, save for the thick Scottish accent.

“Hotel Six, please identify,” Sinclair said, raising his voice a little. He was vaguely aware that both Church and Alvarez were now watching him from the doorway. “How did you get this frequency?”

“Redbird Once, I’m with her Majesty’s SAS forces, and I believe we have something, or rather, someone of yours.” There was a pause, then a chuckle. “Your little songbird packs quite a punch.”

Saying a silent prayer of thanks, Sinclair took a deep breath, giving a quick, acknowledging glance to Church and Alvarez.

“Copy that, Hotel Six. We would be more than happy to get our little songbird back. Plus whatever luggage she was carrying with her, if you don’t mind.”

“Aye, you got it, Redbird One.”

As Sinclair continued to talk to ‘Hotel Six’, Alvarez looked at Church.

“That was too close,” he muttered. “And I don’t like this. What’s to say that this isn’t a setup for a damn ambush?”

“Nothing,” Church replied flatly. He then smirked at his compatriot. “But how many Scotsmen did you seen running around this place?”

Alvarez was silent for a moment, then sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Good point.”

“Can it, sports,” Sinclair stated loudly, walking out of the communications room. “So long as what our buddy Hotel Six was saying is true, they’ve got our little Angela. And the laptop she had with her. And ‘they’ happen to be SAS, if you didn’t hear. So now we have a sixty-five minute window to pick her up and get the hell out of this oven.”

“Don’t know about you, boss, but I’m more than ready to get out of this hellhole,” Church muttered, shrugging under the weight of his gear. “This place is hotter than a firecracker in Juarez in the middle of June.”

“Then let’s gear up and move out.”


	3. Luck and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon being successfully reunited with her own teammates, Angela learns, three months later, that she is to be included in the next mission.

Wincing slightly at the sting of antiseptic as it was dabbed onto the bite wound on his arm, Soap glanced over at Angela. Though the blindfold and zip tie around her wrists had been removed, she was still seated in the passenger’s seat of the Jeep. Her gaze was emptily fixed on the Styrofoam cup sitting on the hood of the Jeep. She had drank three full cups of water and a cup of coffee. Though she hadn’t said a word of a complaint, she was obviously tired from the entire ordeal.

“She really bit you something fierce,” the medic chuckled as they wrapped a bandage around Soap’s arm.

“You’re telling me. Girl could probably moonlight as a damn piranha,” Soap grumbled, taking a long drag of the cigar he held tightly between his teeth.

“At least we know she’s up to date on her shots. So no rabies or tetanus boosters for you.” The medic shot Soap a quick grin as they tied off the bandage and began putting the medical supplies back into the first aid box. “Though you’re damn lucky she didn’t break your nose. Can’t have that pretty face of yours getting messed up.”

“Har har,” Soap grumbled.

Thoughtfully and lightly running his fingers over the bandage that had been set over his nose, Soap glanced back to Angela. With a sigh, he began walking over to the Jeep, the footsteps of his approach snapping Angela out of her daze. Her gaze quickly came up to the SAS soldier, and Soap couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were a much darker shade of blue than he’d initially thought. Dark enough to almost be sapphire in color.

The medic had done a good job of cleaning her up, too. The smears of blood and dirt were now gone, and her sunburned skin had been thoroughly coated with some sort of ointment. Her platinum blonde hair was the only thing that still seemed messy, though Angela had done a decent job of combing it back with her fingers.

“Sorry for biting you,” Angela said before Soap could get a word in. She thought for a second, then ducked her head. “And for stomping on your foot. And for, you know...hitting you with that laptop.”

“That how you always greet somebody?” Soap asked with a grin.

For a moment, the blonde woman seemed surprised by the Captain’s grin, but then she managed to muster up one of her own. Shaking her head, Angela sighed and leaned back in her seat.

“You ought to see how I greet those people always trying to push their religion on you at six in the morning.”

“I’ll bet the poor bastards don’t even know what hit them,” Soap chuckled. It was at that point he noticed the small sliver of white that was peeking out from underneath the left side of Angela’s collar. He recognized it as part of a thick bandage, and motioned to it as he took another drag of his cigar. “Looks like you did take a hit or two there, girlie.”

“Yeah. One of them managed to get a lucky shot, I guess. Nothing vital got hit, though.” Angela tugged the collar of her sweat and dirt stained shirt down to reveal the large, square bandage. Already there was the slightest hint of crimson seeping through. She then let go of the shirt collar and looked back to Soap. “I’m sure you’ve had worse, though.”

“That I have,” Soap answered with a nod. He then flashed a smirk at Angela. “But I’ve got to give you credit. You’re the first person to ever successfully attack me with a laptop. Congratulations.”

“Aha… Sorry about that.”

“Bah, don’t worry about it.” Gaze still lingering on the bandage, Soap’s attention was then drawn to the bruises beginning to blossom on Angela’s skin. He couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of remorse at recognizing that the bruises were from his own handiwork. “Looks like I managed to rough you up a bit there, anyways.”

“You pulled your punches,” Angela replied, leveling a knowing look at the soldier.

“Well, I don’t exactly like beating up women, even if they do throw the first punch.” Taking another drag of the cigar and looking back to the makeshift base camp, Soap leaned against the Jeep. “But don’t worry, girlie. We got in contact with the men on your side and they’re on their way to pick you up. You’ll be out of this jungle before you know it.”

“Sinclair is going to kill me,” the blonde groaned, laying back in the passenger’s seat somewhat dramatically.

“Why? You made it out in one piece, and I’m guessing with all the information you gathered, too.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a record. A reputation for being able to get in, get stuff done, and get out. Without a scratch or without anybody noticing. That’s why I was sent here.” Rubbing her face, Angela sighed heavily. “And instead the whole mission turned into a damn circus.”

Studying the woman for a moment, Soap reached over and lightly tugged on the sleeve of her shirt to get her attention. When Angela removed her hand, Soap was partially leaning over her, his blue eyes locking with her own. This close, she couldn’t help but glance over his features and all the details they bore.

“If you’ve done good enough that they sent you out here alone,” Soap said with a slight tilt of his head, “then I think you’re probably-”

“Soap! You ready to head out?”

Recognizing the voice as Roach’s, Soap turned to look at them. They had Angela’s laptop tucked under their arm. As soon as he could, though, he handed it off to Soap, who then, in turn, handed it to Angela. She took it with a mumbled word of thanks, gaze falling to the dented casing. Noticing the seeming change in demeanor, Roach looked at her for a moment before glancing over to Soap.

“She going to be all right?”

“Aye,” Soap replied, tossing away the remainder of his cigar. “Just need to get her out of this bloody jungle.”

“Well, her squad said they were on their way, so we need to be heading out to meet them at the rendezvous point,” Roach stated, making sure he spoke loud enough for Angela to hear as well. “They mentioned they were wanting to get her back to D.C. as soon as they could.”

Concealed by the shadows of the looming trees, Sinclair and Alvarez watched as a Jeep slowly drove closer. Three figures bobbed around as the vehicle traversed the rough and uneven terrain. Farther behind them on a hill, covered in camouflage and armed with an M4 in case things got messy, was Riley. While Sinclair sincerely hoped it didn’t come to that, he knew better, after this many years, to never leave anything to chance.

After the Jeep slowed to a stop, the first SAS soldier hopped out. A pair of sunglasses concealed his eyes and an assault rifle of his own was slung over his shoulder. Sinclair immediately recognized Angela in the passenger seat, and then his gaze moved to the driver of the Jeep. They were a tall soldier with a cropped mohawk and long scar across their left eye.

Stepping out slowly from the shadows, Sinclair kept his voice low and only for Alvarez.

“Just keep calm and play nice. They certainly look like SAS.”

“You got it, boss,” Alvarez muttered, following alongside his commanding officer.

As they got closer to the Jeep, the scarred SAS soldier nodded in acknowledgment to Sinclair.

“Redbird One, aye?”

“In the flesh, sport,” Sinclair replied, mustering up a polite smile. He then glanced over to Angela, feeling a bit of relief at the sight of her cleaned up and bandaged. “Have to thank you for picking up our little songbird there. Looks like she needed the help.”

“Don’t know about that. She’s pretty lethal with this thing,” Soap said with a smirk as he handed over the laptop. He then motioned to it as Sinclair gave it a quick once over. “Nothing’s been tampered with. Did look it over a couple of times to make sure it wasn’t going to blow up in our faces, but that’s it.”

“Thank you kindly.” Satisfied with the appearance of the laptop, Sinclair handed the laptop to Alvarez before looking over to Angela. “You going to sit there all day, darlin’? Or are you gonna’ keep workin’ on that tan of yours?”

Quickly clambering out of the Jeep, Angela jogged over to Sinclair and Alvarez. Alvarez gave her a quick, tight hug, quickly checking her over before nodding to Sinclair. The American commander nodded and looked back to Soap.

“Well, here’s to hopin’ that the next time we meet, it’s on better terms. Thanks again, friend.”

“Aye, here’s hoping,” Soap agreed. He then looked to Angela and gave her a quick, casual salute. “You take care, songbird.”

Smiling at Soap, Angela nodded before letting Alvarez lead her away. After a quick affirmation from Soap and Roach, Sinclair joined them. They led Angela to their own, beat up Jeep, which looked to be on its last legs. To Angela, though, it looked like a beautiful chariot providing a much wanted trip home.

As Soap and Roach watched the Americans drive off, the blond soldier looked up to their commander.

“Well that went better than I thought,” he mused quietly. “Everybody was telling the truth, or as much of it as they could, at least. Nobody got killed. And we got Angela back with her squad. Guess we can’t ask for much more than that, hm?”

“No, we can’t. Hopefully she gets an extended break after this. She doesn’t seem the type that should be running around with us rough types, anyways.”

* * *

Three months later, the bullet graze having become nothing more than a pale sliver of a scar, Angela found herself staring at her reflection in a full-length mirror. The newest scar on her neck was probably one of the least visible out of the myriad of scars that covered her body. The worst, by far, were the thick, raised ones that crisscrossed down her back. Coming in a close second were the three bullethole scars that marred the right side of her stomach. Finally, there was a thick scar that ran along her right temple and into her hair, along with a set of thin scars on the left side of her jawline. They got worse as they wrapped around to the nape of her neck and then down her back.

Of course, in her line of work, Angela had accumulated more scars than that. But the rest were nothing of real note.

Sighing, the blonde walked out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, where the microwave had been beeping at her incessantly for the past minute and a half. It had been trying, in vain, to let her know that her food had finished warming up. Now, though, with her stomach growling in demand, Angela popped open the microwave and snatched up the food.

Though it took a bit of juggling back and forth to keep from burning her fingertips, she managed to balance the plate of egg rolls long enough to put it on the table to cool. As she tapped her foot in impatience, Angela’s attention drifted over to the yellow snake of Sticky Notes that worked its way along the front of her refrigerator. Unfortunately, the yellow snake just seemed to be getting longer and longer these days.

A sharp knock at the door snapped Angela out of her thoughts, making her start. Reflexively, her eyes narrowed, and she slowly walked over to the door. It only took one peek through the peephole for her to recognize the face that was smiling goofily back at her.

Rolling her eyes and smiling, Angela opened the door and was immediately greeted by Sergeant James Riley.

“Angie!” he cried, picking her up in a tight hug.

A short grunt briefly interrupting her laughter, Angela managed to wiggle out of Riley’s embrace. She took a step back and regarded him with a suspicious look, though her grin never wavered.

“Alright, what’s up? The only time I ever get this sort of greeting is when you want something, have a new mission for me, or need to get back into whatever social media account you’ve managed to lock yourself out of.”

Feigning a look of hurt, Riley dramatically clutched at his chest and strode into Angela’s apartment. Watching him with the same suspicious, knowing look, she closed the door behind him. Crossing her arms loosely and raising an eyebrow, the blonde made an expectant ‘hm’ noise. Riley, however, seemed oblivious. Instead, he made a face and scrunched up his nose.

“Either you’re cooking or somebody got sick in the AC vent.”

“You’re a laugh riot,” Angela snorted before motioning to the kitchen. “If you must know, it’s the breakfast of champions. Day old egg rolls.”

“You know, when you die of food poisoning, nobody is going to be surprised. You know that, right?”

“After all the shit I’ve been through, I will be very, very disappointed with myself if I die from food poisoning,” the blonde retorted, picking up one of the now cooled egg rolls and taking a bite out of it. She then pointed the half-bitten food item at Riley. “Now that we’ve established you’re not here because of my fine culinary skills, what are you actually here for?”

Though he managed to keep his grin, it did take on a slightly concerned tone.

“You get to come work with Steel squad again.”

“Woohoo.”

“Ah, c’mon. I’m sure you can manage a bit more enthusiasm than that,” Riley groaned.

“I am  _ still _ the laughing stock of the office!” Angela cried through a mouthful of egg roll. “Not to mention that was the worst sunburn of my life. That hurt like hell.”

“Well, the good news is that you won’t have to worry about sunburns where we’re going. At least, for the most part, anyways.”

“Wait… So where are we going, then?”

“We get to go to merry old England!” Riley cried enthusiastically, throwing his hands up in the air for effect.

Pausing mid-bite of the egg roll, Angela blinked at Riley and tilted her head as though she hadn’t heard him.

“I’m sorry, did you say England?”

“Yeah, England. You know… Big island across the Atlantic Ocean. Home of our tea drinking allies. Probably some of the best allies we’ve got. Any of this ringing a bell?”

Feeling a nagging sense of dread begin to work its way through her, Angela set aside the almost eaten egg roll and raised an eyebrow.

“Do you know who we’re working with?”

“Not sure yet,” Riley replied with a shrug before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “Probably Special Air Services. But you know how Sinclair is. Usually kind of quiet about this sort of stuff until everything’s been arranged.”

“They brought back the same Delta squad from the South America mission?”

“Eh, most of us, anyways. They’ve got Sinclair leading us, which is fine by me. There’s me, obviously. Pretty sure they pulled in Alvarez, too. Think they got some guy named Wilson. I’ve run with him a couple of times, not a bad guy. Strong as an ox, too. Oh, and they’ve got our old buddy Church is coming with us, too.”

Looking down at the plate of egg rolls, Angela sighed heavily and glanced back up to Riley.

“You were there at South America. Did you miss the whole conversation Sinclair had with me about attacking allies?”

“In particular SAS?” Riley asked with a knowing grin. “Oh, yeah. I heard. We all did. But hey, look at it this way… We may not even be working with the same guys. Even if we do, this could be your opportunity to give them a nice, polite little apology for bashing one of their Captains in the face with a laptop.”

Wincing, Angela ducked her head in embarrassment.

“Thanks, Riley. I needed that reminder.”

“I do it because I care,” Riley replied, his tone a mixture of joking and slight condescension.

Neither of which really made Angela feel better.

“You didn’t see that poor bastard’s face,” she muttered. “Hit him dead center and almost broke his nose in the process.”

“Yeah, but didn’t he bruise you up a bit restraining you?”

“...I bit him. Hard.”

Riley stopped, obviously struggling to find a decent reply. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, unable to form a proper response. Finally, he made a short ‘hm’ noise and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Yeah, about that. I know the shots you have to get after getting bit,” Riley finally said. He gave Angela a side-eye look. “You might want to see about taking a six pack of beer as a peace offering. Or...two. Maybe even three, depending on where the bite was.”

Sighing, Angela picked up the egg roll and finished eating it with a defeated expression on her face.

“Ah, don’t make that face. How about this? We’re just going to hope that you don’t meet the same guy, eh? I’m sure that England has more than a couple of SAS soldiers running around.”

“Here’s hoping that I’m that lucky.”


	4. Debriefed Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safely back in their respective countries, S.A.S. Task Force 141 and Delta Team find that their next mission will have them working together.

It was early enough in the morning that the heating hadn’t been turned on, so the debriefing room was unusually cold. All five soldiers of the Delta squad were wearing their standard issue jackets, while Angela was wearing a grey hoodie. Riley, Church, and Angela all had cups of steaming coffee gripped in their hands, more for the warmth than to drink. Alvarez was grumbling to himself about the ‘damn AC’, while the newest addition to the squad, Wilson, was sitting quietly in his seat, looking at the dry erase board blankly.

According to Arnold Wilson’s file, he was from the Army Rangers and came with great recommendations from his superiors. Given that he was in Delta squad, that was practically to be expected. Angela just hoped that he lived up to those numerous recommendations and endorsements.

The door slowly swung open and Captain Sinclair walked into the room. As soon as he felt how cold the room was, he paused and gave the vents set in the ceiling a slightly annoyed look. He then shook his head and pulled out the small pile of manila folders that were tucked under his right arm. He handed them first to Alvarez, who began handing them around without a word.

“So,” Sinclair said, lightly clapping his hands together before rubbing them quickly, “how is everybody this fine morning?”

“Boss, it is four o’ clock in the damn morning,” Church said with a friendly grin. “We are not yet to the point of a ‘fine’ morning. We are currently at the point of ‘what the hell are we doing awake’ in the morning. ‘Fine’ morning should be rolling around somewhere around seven or eight.”

The comment from the second-in-command got a chorus of chuckles from the room, with Alvarez and Riley nodding their heads in agreement. Laughing lightly himself, Sinclair gave a conceding nod and then picked up the manila envelope that he had kept for himself. Leafing through the papers inside, he glanced around to make sure that everyone else had their own envelope and was paying attention.

“All right, well, we’ll go ahead and get this ‘what the hell are we doing awake’ morning started. Long story short, we’re going to be giving our buddies across the ocean a little bit of help in dealing with some rogue mercs.”

Looking down at the first paper, Angela studied the mug shots of the three men and one woman that glared back at her. Two of the men had dark hair, maybe black, while the other had notably lighter colored hair. The woman’s hair appeared to be dark blonde, with dark-colored eyes to match.

“Not only do they have quite a few gun-toting buddies to back them up, but we know that at least one of them, that light-haired sport on the first page, has launch codes for enough missiles to level Louisiana.” Sinclair’s gaze then went to Angela as he gave her a nod. “You, darlin’, are going to have to break out your snowshoes. You get to do some remote work.”

“Remote work?” Angela repeated, looking up. She smirked half-heartedly. “They’re letting me back out into the field with you crazy bastards already?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sinclair replied smartly. He then winked a brown eye at her. “Don’t worry, we’ll protect you this time.”

“Wait,” Rile piped up. “Are we protecting Angela? Or are we protecting the bad guys from Angela?”

Rolling her eyes, Angela teasingly motioned as though she were throwing her coffee cup at Riley.

“Think we’re supposed to protect Angela, but feeling sympathy for the unfortunate son of a bitch she gets a hold of is still allowed.” Flipping back to the first page, Sinclair cleared his throat. “They’ve got a couple of makeshift bases that we know of, with one of ‘em being in Kazakhstan. Another is near Lake Balkhash, which is where we’re pretty sure one of our targets is currently located.”

Church lifted up a hand to catch Sinclair’s attention.

“According to this we’re working with SAS,” he stated, flicking the envelope with the back of his hand. “Not to sound lazy, but why do they need our help? Last I checked, they were doing pretty well handling the bad guys in their backyard. You know...more or less.”

“Well, we’ve got our own interests in this, too. These guys got their hands on some information and an experimental weapon that we’re going to be gettin’ back. That and the fact that S.A.S. has requested our help.” Sinclair set aside the first paper-clipped group of papers and moved onto the next one. “We’re gonna’ be workin’ with Task Force One Four One.” There was a pause, then Sinclair cleared his throat. “We’ve, uh, met.”

Though she didn’t look up, Angela could feel the rest of the room looking at her. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, she kept her gaze focused on the group photo of the S.A.S. task force. She immediately recognized two of the soldiers as the ones she had run into in South America. Though she knew she was blushing, Angela tried to keep her composure as best she could.

“If anything,” Sinclair continued, noticing Angela’s embarrassment, “it keeps the introductions shorter.”

The remainder of the meeting droned on routinely, with Sinclair giving them a run down of where they would be staying and where they would be deployed. Angela couldn’t help but wonder what was so important and archaic that it required her to be out in the field again. Moreover, she just hoped there wouldn’t be a repeat of the last time she was out in the field.

According to the debrief, all four targets were to be apprehended. If they couldn’t, however, making sure that they didn’t see their next birthday was an option. So long as they didn’t escape. It seemed that their ringleader, Anton Tarasov, had managed to set off some red flags while under surveillance. Now that he had managed to slip out from under said surveillance, he had gotten his hands on a weapon and intel that the U.S. government wanted back.

As the meeting wound down, Angela noticed Wilson mutter something to Church, who replied with a look that Angela couldn’t quite decipher. But it definitely hadn’t been a  _ good _ look, which was worrisome. But Church caught Angela staring at the two, and he just shook his head quickly.

After all questions had been posed and answered, the meeting was concluded and the team was dismissed. Not wanting to sit in the cold any more than she had to, Angela was one of the first out of the room. Riley was close behind, and the two began talking about a new coffee shop that had opened up recently near Angela’s apartment complex.

Watching the two walk down the hall, Church waited until their conversation had faded and they were out of earshot before turning around. Wilson was waiting for him, leaning against the wall and giving him an expectant look. And expectant and  _ concerned _ look.

“So what was your question about Angela?” Church finally asked, habitually brushing back his short cut, dark blond hair.

“I saw her file,” Wilson stated, keeping his voice low. “The evals and the whole thing with the church…”

Church felt his lower jaw reflexively clench and he reminded himself that this was to be expected. Wilson was only expressing concern, as most people would if they were to see Angela’s rather long personnel file. It was just frustrating to have to constantly reassure the newbies while knowing that some of Angela’s skills made her invaluable.

“If you saw her file, then you’d also know that all those evals came back with positive reviews,” Church replied curtly. “As for her past… Well, we’ve all got skeletons in our closets, don’t we? Angela’s have just been dragged out for the whole world to see.”

“So you’re not worried about her cracking under pressure?”

That was enough to make Church laugh, and he began walking down the hall, motioning for Wilson to follow.

“Kid, if Angela was going to crack, she would have done so a long time ago. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than some angry mercenaries and bad weather to push her past her limit.” Church shrugged quickly. “Besides, who would you rather have out in the field with you? Somebody who has done nothing but push pencils all their life? Or somebody who has an idea of the type of hell we get to go through?”

“In all honesty, sir, I’d like somebody that wasn’t deemed a suicide risk.”

“That was multiple evaluations ago,” Church retorted steely, shooting Wilson a warning glance. “And if you can show me somebody that’s been through half of what she has and hasn’t had a suicidal thought, then I’m going to say you’re spinning me one hell of a tale.”

Though Wilson fell quiet, Church could tell that the soldier wasn’t completely convinced. Frankly, Church doubted there was anything that he could say or do to completely convince Wilson of how trustworthy Angela was. That was something that the soldier would simply have to come to accept through experience.

“So her past has never affected a mission adversely, sir?” Wilson asked solemnly.

“Never.”

* * *

Roach had always known that Ghost had a penchant for gleaning as much information as possible about upcoming missions. In fact, they seemed to have laser-like focus for doing so. But this latest one was interesting enough that Roach had watched Ghost’s cup of coffee go from steaming hot to stone cold without them ever taking a sip of it.

Roach wasn’t sure whether to be in awe or to ask if Ghost if they were still conscious.

“They sending anybody good?” Roach asked with a tilt of his head.

Though he didn’t look up, Ghost nodded in response.

“Looks like it, mate. This Sinclair fellow has been through all sorts of hell and made it through. Seems that the same can be said about his right hand man, too. This Church fellow.” Ghost’s gaze flicked up to Roach. “Though I’ve heard you’ve already met Sinclair.”

“That would be true,” Roach replied as Ghost tossed him one of the folders, its contents sliding out. “Looks like they’re also sending that same CIA agent, too.”

Looking through the folder’s contents, Roach saw a photo with a couple of familiar faces on it. One of them being Sinclair’s, as Roach immediately recognized the blond hair and brown eyes. Then there was the black-haired soldier, the one named Alvarez. And then, off to the far left of the photo, Roach recognized Angela. Though he had to admit it was different to see her smiling.

“You hear that, Captain?” Roach asked with a laugh. “Our friends across the sea are sending your favorite CIA agent along with the Delta Team.”

“Great,” Soap grumbled audibly. He had been fighting with the coffee maker for a few minutes now, but seemed to have won. He sat down with a cup of coffee that was blacker than asphalt, looking over the Delta Team group photo that Ghost handed him. “Hell, arm that woman with a laptop and let her loose. We’ll win the fight without having to shoot a single bullet.”

As he looked over Angela’s file, Roach frowned slightly upon reading her last name.

“Jasinski?” he read aloud. “That’s not a last name you hear often.”

“Yeah. Turns out she’s Polish. Or of Polish descent, at least. Says here that her mother and father immigrated over and she’s the first generation of her family to be born in the States,” Ghost explained.

“She’s got a hell of a resume for a CIA agent, though,” Roach commented. “Looks like they pulled her in for almost all the tough jobs.”

“You being serious?” Soap asked, raising an eyebrow. In response, Roach slid the folder with Angela’s file over to the captain. Leafing through the papers, Soap skimmed over their contents quickly. “Bloody hell, you weren’t kidding. Kind of makes you wonder why she stuck with the CIA.”

“Would explain why she made such an interesting first impression.”

“Huh… Wonder what’s with all these psych evals,” Soap muttered, continuing to read over Angela’s file.

“Seems like she hit a rough patch a couple years ago. Some mission in South Africa that went sideways. Details are a bit sketchy, but when she got back to the States, she was put on leave and watch for a while,” Ghost explained. He paused and looked back down at the file, then shrugged. “But her last couple of evals came back with an all clear. So it seems like she got over whatever was the problem.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Soap studied Angela’s profile picture. It was obviously an earlier photo of her, probably taken when she first joined. Her hair was longer, falling to her shoulders, she was missing a scar on her neck, and she was smiling. It was certainly different to see her in such a state, as Soap had met Angela when she had been bruised and covered in dirt.

“Looks like this Church fellow has been on quite a few missions with her,” Roach stated, continuing to look through the personnel files. “And judging by his extensive medical experience, seems to be the team’s medic. So if we get shot, we know who to go to.”

“This Captain Sinclair certainly checks out well,” Soap commented as he read over the Delta Team captain’s file. “Damn… Fluent in Russian, French, Spanish, and English. Superiors highly recommend him and he’s got extensive experience in leading covert ops.”

“And a fairly friendly fellow, to boot,” Roach added.

“That he was.”

“So, Soap…” Ghost set down the folder he had been looking through. “Did that CIA agent really bite you?”

“More like she tried to gnaw my bloody arm off,” Soap huffed. “I had to get four different shots because of her.”

“And yet you were still kind enough to pull your punches,” Roach said, barely able to stifle his laughter.

“Aw, Soap, that was mighty nice of you,” Ghost crooned with a smirk.

Though he rolled his eyes, Soap was obviously fighting back a smile.

“I was pretty sure that the South American favela gang hadn’t started hiring blonde haired, blue eyed women in American fatigues. Or, at the very least, they weren’t stupid enough to send them out where they could get captured.”

* * *

Sinclair absolutely hated paperwork. It was one of the few things that came with promotions that he hated. Paperwork was tedious, time consuming, and if not filled out properly, could screw things up for months. It may have been a necessary evil, but Sinclair was already humoring the idea of using some of the paperwork before him as target practice.

He was also mulling over the conversation that he’d had with Church earlier. It seemed that Wilson had spoken to Sinclair’s second-in-command after the morning meeting and voiced some concerns about Angela. While Sinclair was pretty sure he knew the reasons for Wilson’s concern, he wasn’t appreciative of the fact that Wilson hadn’t come to him directly. Fortunately, Church seemed to have fielded the question well and, hopefully, eased most of Wilson’s concerns.

As the inventory list he had been reading over began to blur, Sinclair set the paper down for a moment to give his eyes a break. Leaning back in his seat, he stared up at the tiled ceiling thoughtfully. The upcoming mission was going to be an interesting one, as it had been a while since Delta Team had worked with close allies. Normally they were sent in by themselves for a single mission. Sometimes two. But this one was with allies and for an extended period of time.

The chair beneath him creaking brought Sinclair back to reality, snapping him out of his thoughts. With a sigh, he sat back up and picked up the inventory list. It was just as boring as it had been from where he’d left off.

Continuing to slog through the paperwork, Sinclair couldn’t help but glance up at the clock on the wall. He had a little less than an hour to get everything signed off on. Otherwise, he’d have to wait until tomorrow morning.

As if on cue, Sinclair’s personal cell phone began ringing at him loudly. It was a loud ringtone, but one that he had assigned for only one person. And given that it was the last hour of his work day, Sinclair figured he could take a personal call when there was nobody around. So, with a quick flick of his thumb to answer the call, Sinclair quickly nestled the cell phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted with a smile.

“Hey!” The voice of Laura, Sinclair’s fiancee, chirped back happily at him. “What’re you doin’? I’m not interruptin’ anything important, am I?”

“Nope. Just doin’ paperwork. As per usual.”

“I figured as much,” Laura laughed. “I got your text. So you’re gonna’ be stationed in the UK, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I was thinkin’ that since I’ve never seen the UK before…”

“You want me to get you photos?” Sinclair finished.

“If you can, yeah. Those photos of Africa you got me were nice, so I figured a few pics of the UK would be, too.” There was a pause, then Laura made a short noise of realization. “Oh! And a keychain.”

“A...keychain?”

“Yeah. Or a shot glass. Or a hat. Y’know, one of those cheap, little, souvenir things.”

“Alright,” Sinclair chuckled, making a mental note. “Was there anythin’ else you wanted?”

“Just one more thing…” Again, there was a pause, and when Laura spoke again, her voice was softer. “Please come home safe.”

“Can and will do,” Sinclair replied, his smile taking on a far more sincere tone.

“You’d better.” Though it sounded like Laura was going to say something else, she didn’t. Instead, after another, brief pause, she seemed to return to her previously chipper self. “Well, I’ve got dinner on the stove and I don’t want it to burn, so I’ve got to go. Have fun with your paperwork!”

“Oh, yeah. Loads of fun.”

After ending the call, Sinclair stared down at the contact photo he had assigned for his fiancee. Unable to help himself, he ran his thumb along the picture affectionately. Then, before the screen could automatically turn off, he maneuvered to the note-taking app on the phone. He quickly typed in ‘take photos of UK + souvenir’ before saving the note and turning off the phone’s screen.

Once he had forced himself through the rest of the paperwork, shuffled it into a neat pile, and dropped it off with the respective secretary, Sinclair made his way off the base. As soon as he had gotten in his car and had successfully merged with traffic, a thought crossed his mind. Pulling out his cellphone, he flipped through his contacts before landing on Angela’s.

The phone rang at least three times, which was about the norm for Angela, before she picked up.

“Sinclair?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Just checkin’ on you, Angie. We’ll be leavin’ bright and early tomorrow mornin’.” When there was no answer, Sinclair continued, trying to coax an answer. “So...you all packed and ready?”

“Sort of…”

“Which means, ‘No, Mister Sinclair, I haven’t packed a thing yet’, don’t it?” Sinclair said with a knowing smile.

There was a long stretch of silence, which only broadened Sinclair’s smile.

“Maybe,” Angela finally answered.

“I’d like to remind you, darlin’, that this ain’t some quick trip across the States. We’re gonna’ be in Europe for at least a few weeks. Possibly months, dependin’ on how things go. Most you can comfortably forget to pack is your toothbrush.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll...get to packing. I-oh, hey. Can I bring alcohol on this trip?”

Sinclair paused and blinked a couple times before finding his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Alcohol. Riley said I should.”

“Oh, did he now?”

“Yeah. He said it’d make for a good apology gift for bashing Captain MacTavish in the face with my laptop.”

Sinclair sighed and quickly rubbed his face in exasperation.

“No, you cannot bring alcohol on this government-funded and sanctioned trip. And remind me to clobber Riley for suggestin’ such a thing.”

“Was worth a shot, sir.”

“You worry too much,” Sinclair chuckled. “I doubt that a laptop is the worst thing that Captain MacTavish has been attacked with.”

“If you say so. But if he’s still angry at me, I’m going to expect you to deal with him for me.”

“Just get yer’ ass in the plane on time,” Sinclair laughed before ending the call.


	5. Rainy Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delta Team is flown overseas to meet and team up with Task Force 141, though some of their members have already met.

The base was relatively quiet, covered by low-hanging clouds with a slow drizzle coming down from the grey skies. Soap was standing outside, underneath an eave of the building that was shielding him from the rain. Far off in the distance, he could see the lights of the transport airplane drawing closer. Delta Squad had finally arrived.

Soap was feeling oddly anxious. It wasn’t the same sort of nervousness that came before missions. That type of anxiety he could handle and deal with. No, this was something else. Something about this whole set up felt...different. It was just that Soap couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad. All he knew was that it was different.

A low roll of thunder pulled him out of his thoughts, and Soap returned his attention to the plane. It was notably closer now, and circling the base before angling down for the landing. The wheels of its landing gear hit the asphalt with a short shriek as they gained traction. As the plane began to slow to a stop, Soap began walking over to it, unfazed by the patter of rain on his uniform.

Once the plane had come to a complete stop, its passenger door opened and the U.S. soldiers began filing out. Soap jogged the rest of the distance, meeting Sinclair midway.

“Captain MacTavish?” Sinclair asked with a polite smile.

“Aye, and you must be Captain Sinclair.”

“The one and only,” the captain replied with a quick, mock salute. He then realized that he was still the only one out on the landing strip, and he looked back over his shoulder. Alvarez was getting off the plane, albeit slowly and looking rather queasy. Sinclair chuckled and shook his head. “You going to make it, Alvarez?”

“Yes, sir,” the black-haired soldier replied, clutching loosely at his stomach. He then burped and grimaced, coughing to clear his throat. “Just telling my lunch not to come back up for a second opinion. That ride couldn’t have been any rougher.”

Chuckling, Soap watched as the rest of Delta Team exited the plane. Fortunately, they seemed to have handled the plane ride better than Alvarez. The SAS captain recognized the second soldier as Alan “Church” Matthew Lee. A medic and Sinclair’s second in command. The next soldier was James Lewis Riley, and then the newest addition to the Delta Squad, Arnold Moore Wilson. Finally, there was the CIA agent Angelinka Lucille Jasinki.

Soap had to admit that Angela looked far better than she had when they’d first met.

As introductions were exchanged, the rain began to pour down. Frowning up at the sky, Soap motioned to the main office building.

“Weather’s only going to get worse,” he warned. “Let’s get inside.”

Not wanting to get soaked, Delta Team followed the SAS captain into one of the main hangars. As soon as they were inside, the rain seemed to come down even harder, creating a faint echo through the hangar. Ghost, Roach, and Scarecrow were already seated at a table, their attentions diverted by the sound of the door opening.

“Over there is our one and only good coffee maker,” Soap said, pointing over to a rather large, industrial-looking coffee maker. Beside it was three stacks of styrofoam coffee cups and a sparsely filled cup of powdered creamer. Soap then pointed over to the set of four tables, one of which was occupied by the other SAS soldiers. “And that’s our dining area.”

“Huh, looks just like home,” Riley muttered, looking around with a faint smirk.

Giving her teammate a playful frown, Angela lightly elbowed the soldier and whispered for him to hush.

“And that,” Soap said, motioning to the west wall that was practically alive with blinking dots and computer screens, “is our information and communications area. There’s more of these stations around the base, but these are going to be the ones that you’ll have easiest access to.”

Then, with a nod from their captain, the three Task Force 141 soldiers rose from their seats and walked over to meet Delta Squad. Feeling a bit out of place in her blue suit when compared to the fatigue-clad soldiers, Angela found herself drifting towards the west wall. As she got closer, she was able to study the computers lining it a little closer. Though the buttons appeared to be worn and it was obvious the computers had seen some use, they had also been properly cared for. The low electrical hum was one that Angela expected from such an electronic collection, and-

“Still with us, Miss Jasinski?”

Angela snapped back to attention and turned around quickly. All eyes were on her and she suddenly felt even more out of place than before. Looking to Sinclair, Angela composed herself and stood up straighter.

“Yes, sir?”

“You plannin’ on introducin’ yourself any time today? Or were you plannin’ on stayin’ anonymous?”

“Oh, uhm, right.” Clearing her throat and putting on her practiced, polite smile, Angela turned her attention to the members of Task Force 141. “Angela Jasinski of the CIA. Pleased to meet you.”

Immediately recognizing Soap and Roach, Angela felt a knot twist in her stomach. Unarmed, Roach actually appeared fairly friendly. He even reminded her somewhat of Riley. His blond hair was neatly close cut, and there was a ghost of a smile on his face. As for Soap, he cut quite the impressive figure. Now clean shaven, his blue eyes were as sharp and bright as Angela remembered. And without dirt, grit, or smeared paint on his face, the scar that ran down his left eye was readily visible.

It was then that Angela realized that Soap was looking directly at her with a slightly questioning gaze...because she had been staring at him.

Feeling more than a little embarrassed, Angela looked away. She wasn’t sure what her problem was. It certainly wasn’t the first time she had been introduced to soldiers of a foreign military force. Then again, she hadn’t made her first impressions with the blunt side of a laptop, either.

As the soldiers began to converse amongst themselves, Angela once again found herself feeling out of place. The men were able to relate through retellings of their missions and struggles with red tape in a way that she never could. But Angela was accustomed to such things, so she once again let her attention drift back to the west wall. She would have started walking back over to it had Sinclair not stepped over to her.

“You okay there, darlin’?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Yeah, why?” Angela asked, despite having a pretty good idea as to why Sinclair was asking in the first place.

“You’re just a little jumpier than I thought you’d be,” Sinclair replied, keeping his voice down.

“Plane ride through a thunderstorm will do that to a person.” Angela scoffed with a weak smile. “That and meeting the Scottish SAS captain that you attacked.”

Chuckling, Sinclair lightly bumped Angela with his shoulder.

“Ah, I think you’re overreactin’ a bit. Pretty sure he’s forgiven you enough that he won’t leave you out in the cold or anythin’.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Angela snickered. She then jerked her head towards the west wall. “Though I am going to go take a look at what I’ve got to work with.”

“Alright, alright. Just don’t go makin’ yourself a total stranger, you hear?”

Giving a quick nod of affirmation, Angela made her way back over to the west wall. Leaning on the large table, she gave the computers a closer inspection. Though she could see a few signs where frustrations had obviously been taken out on the unfortunate electronics, it was nothing startling. Peeking behind the row of computers, Angela spied a massive tangle of cables. Making a face, she cautiously tugged at the mess, hearing some of the plastic covering crack in response.

“Bit of a mess, isn’t it?”

Slightly surprised, Angela looked up at Soap. He had somehow managed to walk up on her without her noticing. Which was a bit of a rarity for Angela, even these days.

“It’s not...that bad,” the blonde woman said slowly, obviously not believing her own words. She grinned and shrugged. “One of the computers I had to work with a couple months ago had actually been stabbed more than once. _ That _ one I was stunned even turned on.”

“That so?” Soap asked incredulously with a faint grin of his own. Reaching over, he patted the computer closest to him. “Well, last I checked, none of these have been stabbed or shot.” The SAS captain paused and frowned at the computer he had just patted. “Not for lack of desire, however.”

Stifling a giggle, Angela looked back to the row of computers. Though she couldn’t help but look over Soap one more time from the corner of her vision. This close to him, and under far friendlier circumstances, she could tell that he had definitely been pulling his punches back in South America. If he had wanted to, Soap probably could have thrown her to the ground in two seconds flat.

“This bloody thing, however,” Soap said, completely missing the fact that Angela had been looking him over, “is as contrary as they come.”

Angela’s attention was drawn to the computer that Soap had roughly tapped. It had a piece of white printer paper taped over the monitor, and an obvious coat of dust. Against her better judgment, Angela blew lightly on the keyboard. She quickly regretted her decision when a plume of dust erupted in her face. Coughing and trying to wave away the dust, Angela snorted and stepped back.

“And there’s that, too,” Soap added, stepping back himself.

Letting the dust settle, Angela reached over and tapped on the keyboard gently. The computer beeped in response, but provided no other response otherwise. Frowning in though, the blonde tilted her head and hummed audibly.

“Hard to say what the problem is without taking a look inside,” she said finally. “I’ll see if I can’t work on it, though. Can be my own little personal project while I’m here.”

“You’re certainly not obligated to, but I’m not going to refuse the help, either. Especially with as stubborn as this thing’s been.”

“I’m always up for a challenge,” Angela quipped with a grin. She fell silent for a few moments before a sheepish expression worked its way across her features. “Ah, I know I already apologized once, but...I am sorry for, um, you know. Attacking you. Back in South America.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Soap chuckled. “If anything, it made for an interesting story afterwards.”

Obviously relieved, Angela flashed the SAS captain a smile. This time, though, it was a genuine smile, like Soap had seen in her profile picture. Not the polite smile that she had been putting on for appearances. It also brought back that odd feeling of anxiousness that he’d felt back on the landing strip. Again, though, he couldn’t figure out why.

* * *

The rain continued on through the evening with such intensity that Church began to wonder if the couple of mice he’d seen running around would soon be coming by in little canoes. Off at the west wall, Angela was working on the same computer she had been for the past hour and a half. The occasional hissed curse from her told Church that she was still fighting with the machine. Meanwhile, off at another table, Captain Sinclair was going over maps and plans with Captain MacTavish. The rest of the soldiers had opted to eat dinner and chat before it got too late into the night.

Taking a bite of his own dinner before washing it down with a long swig of tea, Church glanced over at Alvarez. The soldier was bundled up in an extra jacket, was wearing an insulated hat, and even a scarf. This was all on top of his normal fatigues, and yet he still somehow managed to look cold.

“You a bit chilly there, Alvarez?”

“I’m beyond chilly. I’m fucking freezing, man!” the soldier grumbled, yanking his hat down over his ears. He shot a glare at Church. “You can’t tell me that you're not even a little cold.”

“I’m doing okay,” the medic replied with a smirk. He then motioned to Roach, who was clad in his fatigue pants and a white T-shirt. “And he seems to be doing pretty good, too.”

As if just noticing that Roach was completely bereft of a jacket, Alvarez could only stare at the soldier in disbelief. Roach soon caught the stare, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Everything okay, mate?”

“You part Yeti or something? How are you not freezing?”

“This is normal weather for us,” Roach laughed. He then jerked his head towards the door of a storage closet. “Pretty sure we have a spare heater in there, though. Can get it for you, if you’d like.”

“Nah, let him freeze,” Church interjected. He scoffed and smirked at his teammate. “This can be revenge for every time we went to some godforsaken place that was hotter than the inside of the Sun and Alvarez wouldn’t shut up about it ‘finally’ being a ‘comfortable’ temperature.”

Obviously unamused with Church's statement, Alvarez proceeded to casually flip his friend off. The medic just laughed at the gesture, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. Before Alvarez could add on, however, the sound of metal scraping across concrete cut him off.

Angela had just shoved herself back from the table of computers rather dramatically. Despite looking a bit frazzled, she was wearing a proud grin on her face. She walked over to the table where Sinclair and Soap were, waiting patiently to be acknowledged.

Sinclair knew that grin, but remained silent as he worked to hide his own grin. Eventually, Soap looked up at Angela and nodded to her. To which the blonde made a sweeping gesture back to the computer she had been working on.

“Computer is back up and running in tip top shape, sir.”

Now it was Soap’s turn to grin. He leaned back and crossed his arms loosely, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ve been fighting with that damn thing for months now,” he stated with a faint scoff.

“Like I said, I like a challenge,” Angela retorted primly.

“Looks like it was quite the fight, though, darlin’,” Sinclair noted, motioning to Angela’s dust-covered suit.

“Yeah, about this…” Angela looked down over herself, trying to brush off the worst smears of dust. “Captain Sinclair, may I please have permission to get changed into something that doesn’t make me look like a clothes store mannequin?”

“I suppose so. Would make for a decent victory prize, I think.”

Not waiting another moment, Angela quickly made her way to the barracks. They were fortunately close by, though the pouring rain helped wash off some of the dust. Sprinting across the asphalt, Angela darted into the barracks. She made her way to her semi-private room, where her luggage had been delivered. They had been neatly piled at the foot of her bed, and Angela quickly yanked open the large duffel bag on top.

After peeling off her rain soaked, and somehow still dusty, suit, Angela began sifting through the contents of the duffel bag. The cool breeze against her skin made for a good incentive to be quick and not too picky. In a few minutes, Angela had yanked on a pair of green fatigue pants and a long sleeve white shirt. After a moment of thought, she snatched up a grey jacket and put it on as well, zipping it up halfway.

There was a body length mirror in the barracks, and the sight of her reflection made Angela pause. Her necklace was now visible, having fallen out during her changing of clothes. Gingerly holding the quarter-sized medallion between her thumb and index fingers, she looked it over thoughtfully. On the one side, it bore her full name: Angela Lucille Jasinski. And on the other side there was a small but incredibly detailed sword with feathered wings for the hilt, its blade pointing downwards.

Angela quickly hid the necklace back under her shirt. While Delta Team didn’t care whether or not she wore the necklace, Angela herself wasn’t in the mood to answer any questions about it. None of the answers would have been pleasant ones, anyway.

Pulling the hood over her head, Angela sprinted back to the hangar. Already she felt far more comfortable, and soon she was back in the relative warmth of the hangar. She was greeted by a sharp whistle from Riley.

“Woo! Look who’s bringing sexy back!” he teased.

Angela just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Put a lid on it, Riley,” Sinclair chided. He then clapped his hands once and cleared his throat to get the rest of the room’s attention. “Alright, lady and gents, your attention, please. Tomorrow mornin’, zero five hundred sharp, we’re gonna’ be runnin’ through trainin’ exercises on the course that our British allies have so generously allowed us to play on.”

Though Roach stifled a laugh, Angela could feel herself tense. She knew that she was expected to run the course alongside Delta Squad. It only made sense, given that she was to be out in the field with them. But she also wanted to live up to whatever expectations Task Force 141 may have had of her. Or, at the very least, she didn’t want to disappoint.

* * *

“Wake up, sleeping beauty! Sun may not be up, but we sure as hell have to be!”

Church’s yelling and quick pounding on the door almost made Angela jump out of her socks. She had just finished getting dressed and hadn’t expected Church to come for her so early. Scrambling over to the door, she unceremoniously yanked it open. She was greeted by a surprised-looking Church, who was also sporting some noticeably dark circles under his eyes.

“Somebody didn’t sleep well,” the blonde commented with a smirk.

“Tell me about it. This jet lag is going to be the end of me,” Church groaned, rubbing his face. He then huffed a short sigh and forced an obviously fake smile. “But! Complaining isn’t going to make things any better.”

“And nobody would listen even if it would,” Angela added as she stepped outside, locking the door to her on-base housing behind her.

“That’s right. Come on, let’s get going. Last thing we want is to be the last ones that show up.”

Fortunately, it only took the two a quick, ten minute drive across the base to get to the obstacle course. Most of Delta Squad and Task Force 141 were already there, though none looked too thrilled about being there in the cold, morning air. As soon as she could, Angela darted over to Alvarez, who was hunched up in his jacket as much as he could manage.

“Not late, are we?” she whispered.

“Nah, Sinclair and MacTavish are still over there,” Alvarez replied, keeping his voice low as well. “Probably trying to figure out how to make this course as painful and complicated as possible.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be fun if they didn’t, now would it?”

“Sounds like your captain is about the same as ours,” Roach commented, having overheard the conversation.

“Great,” Alvarez grumbled. “Like Sinclair needed a cheerleader.”

“I won’t tell Soap you called him that.”

As though realizing what he had said, Alvarez stopped, a mildly alarmed expression crossing his face. He glanced over to where Soap and Sinclair were, then back to Roach. The blond soldier had a supreme grin on his face, which didn’t help matters.

“I would be most grateful if you didn’t,” Alvarez said, his tone almost understandably pleading.

It took everything Angela had not to laugh aloud, but she managed. Which was a good thing, too, because at that moment, Sinclair and Soap appeared to finish their conversation. The two captains began walking over to where the soldiers were. Immediately, they all snapped to attention, months of training taking over.

“Alright, ladies,” Sinclair announced, his tone far sterner than it had been last night. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Behind the captain, Angela could see the obstacle course. It appeared to be fairly standard, though that didn’t necessarily mean it was going to be easy. Taking in a slow, deep breath, she reminded herself that she had gone through these sorts of courses numerous times. This one was no different and she would be able to manage herself just fine.

At least, that’s what Angela decided to keep telling herself.


	6. Obstacles on the Obstacle Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the enemy forces begin to convene, Delta Team and Task Force 141 begin preparing and training.

The air was painfully cold, with small barbs of ice and snow swirling around wildly in the biting winds. For Nika, though, it was simply another day in Kazakhstan. And a rather boring one at that. Clad in insulated snow fatigues and hat, a thick jacket, and heavy duty, slip-resistant boots, she barely felt the cold. Instead, her attention was on the snow-plastered, double-story warehouse that had been hurriedly made into a base of operations. There were a few smaller buildings to the south of the warehouse, but they were of little concern.

Striding towards the main building, ice and snow crunching underneath her boots, Nika let her thoughts wander. She would have seemed out of place amongst all the armed soldiers. Except for the fact that she was armed with a customized AK-47 herself. And despite being of a smaller build than most of the soldiers, none of them dared get in Nika’s way.

As she neared the warehouse, the outer perimeter guards nodded politely to her. Nika gave them a quick nod of acknowledgment in return, but her thoughts were still elsewhere. Instead, they were on her young daughter, who was safe at home with Nika’s mother. Or rather, as safe as she could be. Ever since Nika had joined the Ultranationalists, she had worried for her daughter. It had been a full month since Nika had last seen Nina, but she had managed to sneak in a few short but precious phone calls to the young girl.

Upon crossing the threshold into the slightly warmer warehouse, Nika forced herself to focus. She needed to inspect the current inventory to make sure that they were properly stocked. There had already been whispered warnings of an enemy force being rallied. Nika wasn’t sure of how much said enemy forces knew, but so far it seemed to be very little.

Now for how long that remained so had yet to be seen.

A low hum of a muffled, digitized ringtone in her right ear snapped Nika out of her thoughts. She quickly tapped at the earpiece in her right ear, picking up the call.

_ “Yes?” _ she answered, reflexively answering in her native tongue of Russian.

_ “Good afternoon, Nika,”  _ came a clipped, curt voice, also in Russian.  _ “Have you frozen to death yet?”  _

It was Rodion. The calm, unnerving growl in his tone that laced his voice and coated each word was unmistakable. Nika had only met Rodion Sabitov three times, and each time he had been the same. Cruel, calculating, and cold. He was almost as bad as the man called Makarov, of whom Nika had only seen once.

And once had been more than enough.

_ “Not yet, sir,”  _ Nika replied, subconsciously pulling her jacket around her a little tighter.  _ “What is the reason for your call? You’ve never been one for idle chit chat.” _

_ “At least you were paying attention,”  _ Rodion murmured with a dry chuckle. He quickly cleared his throat before continuing.  _ “I just received intel that confirms the rumors we had heard were true. It seems that those Western European cowards are sending their soldiers to try and hunt us. SAS has been confirmed, and there are unsubstantiated reports that they have an American squad assisting them.” _

_ “Both British and American forces then,”  _ Nika commented grimly.

_ “They think we will run like scared children. That we will run and lead them directly to the heart of our operations,”  _ Rodion hissed, his voice dropping to a deadly tone.  _ “They know  _ ** _nothing_ ** _ .” _

For a few moments, Nika said nothing. Even though she had not spent much time around Rodion in person, she had spent enough time around him to know when he was furious. This was one of those times. Not just for the fact that there were enemy forces mobilizing against them, but because this was one of the few times that Rodion had been proven wrong.

For the longest time, Rodion and another commander, a man by the name of Andrei, had believed that they had plenty of time before the Western forces moved in. Nika and a fourth commander, Makar, had known better. Or rather, Nika had known better, Makar just hadn’t wanted to argue with either side.

Regardless, Nika had been very careful to not let her guard down. Even if the enemy was thousands upon thousands of miles away, she had not been so foolish as to underestimate their resolve. She had fought to spend many years of her life the hunter and not the hunted. She certainly wasn’t going to let that change now.

_ “Do not worry, Rodion. We are more than prepared and ready for them,”  _ Nika replied, trying to ensure that her faint smile was conveyed through her words.

_ “You had better be. You and your forces are going to need to distract them for as long as possible. Our timeline with which to work along has been shortened considerably and we have a lot of time to make up for.” _

_ “Come now, Rodion, you ought to know by now that I do not simply distract. If those idiots dare try to cross me, I will crush them.” _

_ “That would be even better. Would save us a lot of time and effort.”  _ Though his words sounded encouraging, Rodion’s tone of voice was anything but that.

_ “Did Andrei intercept that shipment of weapons?” _ Nika asked, opting to ignore Rodion’s seeming lack of faith in her abilities.

_ “Yes. Our South American supplier stayed true to his word. Plus, the information that you intercepted from those fools in the United Kingdom allowed us to retrieve the shipment before those SAS soldiers were able to steal the weapons from us.” _

_ “Good. I had wondered if the local gangs were attempting to cause problems for us. It seems that they are smarter than I initially gave them credit for.” _

_ “They tried to put up a good bluff, but we were very...persuasive.” _

Nika didn’t bother masking her laughter. She could only imagine the ‘persuasive’ tactics that Rodion and his immediate subordinates utilized. She just hoped that she never had to actively participate in applying them.

_ “Keep the base secured,” _ Rodion ordered firmly.  _ “You will receive new orders shortly.” _

With that and a short beep, the call ended. Immediately, Nika breathed out a long sigh of relief. Though a nearby soldier gave her a puzzled look, as soon as Nika looked at him, he saluted smartly. For a moment, the blonde gave the soldier a pointed look. Nothing too threatening, but just enough to let them know they had been caught staring.

After a few awkward seconds, Nika decided she had made the poor man uncomfortable enough and averted her gaze. She couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place being saluted in such a rigid manner. She had never intended to be a soldier, much less a paramilitary leader. In fact, during her grade school years, the mere sight of a gun had terrified her. Gunshots would send her running. Now they were so familiar that they might as well have been a lullabye.

Drawing in a breath and straightening her posture to compose herself, Nina continued on her way to inspect the current inventory. Even if she hadn’t intended to be a leader, she was most assuredly one now. One that had a job to do and one that would do said job to the utmost of her abilities.

Nonetheless, Nika couldn’t deny that she missed her daughter.

She really, really missed Nina.

* * *

It had been about halfway through the morning’s exercise routines that the sky had opened up and the rain had begun drizzling down again. It was notably cold, but Angela forced herself to ignore it. Her focus was almost solely on keeping pace with Riley as they had gone on their five mile run. If anything, the rain was a welcome way to cool off.

The basic exercises hadn’t been a problem, and Angela had a two year long gym membership to thank for that. Even the run itself hadn’t been too difficult, save for the occasional, thick mud puddle. Besides, Angela had always been rather fond of running. Not to mention there was something about knowing that your life might later rely on how fast and long you could run that provided an extra bit of incentive.

Upon crossing the finish line, Angela jogged to a stop. She was winded and there was a faint stab of pain in her right side. Even if she was accustomed to extended runs, that didn’t mean she was superhuman. So, as she slowly walked around in the rain, Angela set her hands on the back of her head to try and get her breath faster.

Lifting her gaze up to the grey skies above, Angela felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. She had grown up in Montana. So there had been more than a few times that she had found herself looking up at a similar kind of sky with a similar kind of weather. Cloudy, overcast, and raining.

“Think you’re going to make it, girlie?”

Recognizing the Scottish accent, Angela smiled and turned to face Soap. He was just as wet with rain as she was, with mud spattered to almost the knees of his fatigue pants. The rain had made his mohawk a bit unruly, but he was still sporting a confident grin. Not only that, but Angela could make out the definite outline of his toned muscles through his rain soaked shirt.

“Believe so, sir,” Angela answered breathlessly, unable to help but smile at her own answer. “How about yourself?”

“Never better,” Soap replied with a chuckle. Motioning to the obstacle course in the not so short distance, he gave Angela a questioning look. “Think you’re ready for that, though?”

“Maybe…”

Though she wasn’t about to back out of the opportunity to at least try and get through the course, Angela couldn’t deny that she was nervous. Not because she thought she was going to get seriously injured or anything. While that certainly was a possibility, she was more concerned with how she would look to Soap and the other SAS soldiers.

Even if none of them had outright said it, Angela couldn’t help but worry that the general consensus among the soldiers was that she was the ‘weak link’. What was worse was that they were, more or less, correct. Angela simply didn’t have the extensive physical training of a Delta Team or SAS soldier. That didn’t mean she was completely helpless, of course. It just meant she had to do that much more to prove herself.

As though noticing Angela’s unease, Soap chuckled and patted her on the back while giving her a quick wink.

“Don’t worry, girlie. You’ll be fine. Just got to get through the thing in one piece.” Soap started to walk towards the course, then paused to turn and flash Angela another confident grin. “We can’t leave you behind, anyways. So you’ll be making it to the finish line one way or the other.”

“Oh joy,” Angela stated sarcastically.

“Let’s go, Angie!  _ Ándale! _ ” Alvarez shouted as he jogged past Angela, taking just enough time to give her shoulder a light punch. “That course ain’t going to run itself!”

Shooting Alvarez a playful glare, Angela followed him towards the obstacle course. As she got closer to it, she could have sworn it simultaneously got longer and taller. Like it was secretly trying to ensure that she didn’t get through it and ended up falling behind. Of course, the solution to that problem was easy to say but harder to do.

Don’t fall behind.

After a brief run through of the route meant to be taken through the course, along with the reminder that they would be monitored, the soldiers were paired up. Not only did it allow them to get through the course trials faster, but it gave the commanding officers an opportunity to see how well the soldiers worked together. While Angela wasn’t sure if it was by chance or on purpose, she ended up being partnered with Delta Team’s medic, Church.

“I’m letting you take the lead,” she muttered as she walked over to the medic.

“Aw, how sweet. You’re going to catch me when I fall,” Church teased, keeping his voice low.

“I’m going to strongly suggest against falling.”

Chuckling quietly, Church looked to the obstacle course. He knew why they had teamed him up with Angela. When they eventually found themselves out on the actual battlefield, Angela would have to follow him. He would be responsible for ensuring that she remained safe while she stayed out of the way as the rest of the soldiers did their job. After all, Angela’s job wasn’t to clear a room of enemy forces, but to steal and download information once the room was clear.

Fortunately, Riley and Alvarez ran the course first, and by the time they had hit the finish line, Angela was feeling notably calmer. Which was a good thing, given that she and Church were up next. As soon as the buzzer sounded, she followed Church to the beginning of the course, looking down it with a narrow-eyed gaze. As near as she could tell, the first immediate problem was going to be a wall that appeared to be six feet tall.

“Just like old times, huh?” Church muttered, looking down the course as well. “Stay close and just yell if you need help.”

“Got it. And just hope that I don’t need help at all, right?”

“That’s right.”

In what felt like no time, the buzzer sounded and Church took off in a full-on sprint, with Angela following close behind. He cleared the wall with relative ease, only pausing at the top to ensure that Angela had the same luck. While she didn’t have the upper body strength, Angela did have momentum on her side, and she put on an extra burst of speed for the last few steps. It enabled her to practically climb the wall and reach the top.

By that point, Church was already ahead of her, slogging through the muddy ground towards a rope ladder. Though he initially struggled to keep his balance, he still managed to climb up the ladder without breaking pace. Once again, Angela kept up, and maintained her balance all the way up the ladder.

The next part was relatively simple as it involved just sliding down a rope to get to the muddy ground below. Angela could see the finish line off in the distance, but there was still a crawl underneath a mess of barbed wire and wooden planks to get through. That and the last part of the course itself was open for an all out sprint.

At the very last moment, Church fell to his stomach, crawling through the thick mud as fast as he could manage. Angela dropped down a little too early, and ended up crawling a small part of the ways on her hands and knees. While she was still able to get onto her stomach to crawl under the wire and planks, the crawling cost her valuable time and put a notable bit of distance between her and Church.

As she finished the crawling on her stomach, Angela scrambled to her feet and put on an extra burst of speed. She needed it to not only catch up with Church, but to get up and over the wooden crates that were placed before her. They were heavy, wooden boxes that Church practically leapt up to the top of. Not wanting to fall behind any more than she already had, Angela started to follow suit, her boot hitting the edge of the first box.

And in a split second there was a squeak of rubber on wet wood as her foot suddenly wrenched out from underneath Angela.

Though her breath caught in her throat in a hoarse gasp, Angela still managed to hiss Church’s name as she fell backwards. The back of her head cracked against the gravel, sharp and painful explosions of red, white and black flashing in her vision. Black started to creep around the edges of her vision, but Angela forced it back, stumbling to her feet.

Church had already jumped down and was pulling roughly on her arm, yanking her back up. He practically had to drag her up the first two boxes, but as they made it over the third box, Angela could feel her senses returning. She tried to give Church a reassuring nod, but instantly regretted the action as sharp pain shot down her neck and back. Even so, she managed to follow close behind him and clear another, smaller wall.

Finally, they reached the straight run towards the finish line.

“Go, go, go!” Church urged.

Fighting back the pain and setting her jaw, Angela sprinted forward with all the speed she could muster. Embarrassment and anger kept her aimed at the finish line, and she raced towards it with all she could manage. She easily passed Church and crossed the finish line, stumbling as she slowed to a stop to wait for her partner. Unable to help herself, Angela doubled over and winced as the sharp sting of pain burned across the back of her head. Already she could feel the warm touch of blood on her scalp.

Out of the corner of her still blurring vision, Angela could see Alvarez and Riley watching her closely from where they stood. They were waiting to see if she staggered or if she fell. So, biting down sharply on her bottom lip, Angela forced herself to stand up straight, keeping her knees locked. Having crossed the finish line, Church strode up to her, giving her a concerned look.

“Come on. Need to get you inside,” he said quickly, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“You going to make it?” Riley asked quietly as the two walked by.

“Yeah, think so,” Angela grumbled, keeping her gaze down. She wasn’t sure if she was in pain from the impact or from shame, but had a feeling it was for both. Furthermore, she knew good and well that if there had been bullets in the air, her clumsiness could have gotten both Church and herself shot. And the subsequent bitter feeling that welled up in Angela was most definitely not from the fall.

After pulling over a metal chair and unfolding it with a jerk of his arm, Church set it in front of Angela. He patted the seat and motioned for her to sit down. Still feeling both ashamed and embarrassed, Angela plopped down in the chair, slouching forward. Church didn’t seem to mind, as he was already digging through a small first aid kit.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Hurts.”

“Your vision?”

“Was blurry a few minutes ago, but it seems to have cleared up now.”

“Hm, okay.” Now wearing a pair of thin rubber gloves, Church produced a pair of green plastic tweezers and a couple of gauze pads from the first aid kit. He turned back to Angela, looking over the bloodied back of her head. “And how’s your neck feeling?”

“Sore, but...I don’t think that anything’s been knocked out of place.”

“We’ll have to double-check here in a bit, but we’ve got to do the fun part first.” Church snapped the tweezers together loudly. “Need to get that gravel out of your scalp.”

“...was afraid that I managed to take a few souvenirs from that course,” Angela grumbled. She winced when she felt Church pull her hair away from the still bleeding injury on the back of her head. Now she could feel the bits of gravel digging in against her scalp. It was a borderline nauseating feeling. “Don’t suppose you could just knock me out before this surgery, could you, doc?”

“Afraid not,” Church replied with a chuckle as he carefully cleaned up some of the smeared blood. “Need you conscious throughout all this to make sure that you don’t lose feeling in your toes or somewhere else.”

“Damn.”

“Now hold this mess you call your hair out of the way,” Church muttered as he pushed over Angela’s blonde hair. “Otherwise I’m going to end up giving you a bald spot trying to remove these rocks.”

Holding onto her hair, Angela gritted her teeth and held as still as she could as Church pried the pieces of gravel out of her scalp. When he tossed aside the first piece of gravel, she couldn’t help but watch as it skipped across the concrete floor. As it came to a rest, Angela breathed out a long, heavy sigh.

“Wow, that was a heavy sigh,” Church commented without looking up from what he was doing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing...other than I’m waiting for embarrassment to kill me.”

“Oh hell, here we go,” the military medic grumbled as he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t start with me. You didn’t make a mistake and fall flat on your back while grinding gravel-ow!” Angela winced as Church pried a particularly stubborn bit of gravel from her scalp. “While grinding gravel into your head!”

“Don’t know about that. Pretty sure my back looks like a cat used it for a scratching post.”

“Yeah, but...those are manly injuries. Expected injuries, even! Mine-ow! ...damn, that hurts.” Huffing and forcing herself to stay still, Angela continued. “My injury is from the fact that I apparently can’t walk.”

“A ‘manly’ injury? The hell makes an injury manly or not?” Church paused and then shook his head. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. And anyways, you slipped. Those boxes were slick as ice with all the rain that’s been pouring down.”

“You know, a  _ manly man  _ injury. Like...you could go home and tell your wife that you were running an obstacle course and had to fight your way through razor wire. That’d be something that’s considered cool. Or, at-ow! Dammit. Are you trying to scalp me back there or something?”

“You keep whining and I might consider it,” Church grumbled. He cleared his throat and quickly continued. “And you know, my wife could instead ask, ‘Well, jackass, why didn’t you go around the razor wire rather than roll around underneath it?’ Or she could just give me that  _ look _ . Which would be saying everything while saying nothing at all.” The medic tapped the back of Angela’s neck firmly. “Now hold still and quit your bitching so I can finish getting this gravel out of your head.”


End file.
